


Exiled

by gryffindorJ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, spag bol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindorJ/pseuds/gryffindorJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is declared persona non grata by the Ministry after the War. Harry has been tasked with keeping an eye on him, ensuring he stays out of England.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exiled

October.  
Wiltshire, England.

This was where it ends. 

The gravel of Malfoy Manor's drive crunched under his boots as he walked, his Auror robes swirling around his ankles from the cool autumn breeze. 

Draco has never seen him in his full Auror uniform; thick navy sweater with leather patches on the elbows, charcoal wool trousers tucked into his knee-high dark brown boots, and matching charcoal robe. He didn't wear a badge. Badges were for standard law enforcement. His badge was tucked into the inner-pocket of his robe. Aurors didn't have to advertise who they were; every witch and wizard knew the uniform.

Harry had to stand outside the gates when he first arrived, taking deep steadying breaths so that his face would read as cool, icy reserve. Professional. He didn't want to show Draco the anger, hurt, and bitterness that was twisting and clawing at his insides. This is business, nothing more, he repeated to himself. He'd come to do his job, do exactly what he swore to Draco he would do if Draco was dumb enough to do this. 

Before Harry raised his hand to knock on the door, the wind shifted and intensified, his robes billowing behind him like a sail. The temperature took a noticeable drop, the skies opened, and rain fell in huge saturating sheets. Harry was prepared though. He had already made himself Impervious to the rain. For a minute he wished he hadn't; it would annoy Draco to no end if Harry was soaking wet. 

And that is where this story began, with Harry, soaking wet. 

 

~~~**~~~

 

London, England  
Ten Months earlier 

It had been pouring rain in Brussels. Harry, having just Apparated back to London after completing an undercover mission, was completely soaked through. His wool pea coat was so saturated and heavy that his shoulders slumped and his spine bowed from the weight. His trainers squeak as he walks down the corridor of the Ministry, leaving small slippery puddles behind him. He enters his office and Daphne immediately swivels in her chair to greet him. For a moment her face shows disgust at Harry's dripping state, but she quickly covers that up with her usual countenance of indifference. 

Daphne was part of the wave of new hires that took place a couple years ago. In an effort to eradicate the nasty backlash purebloods had been subjected to since the end of the war, the Ministry had instituted a large public relations campaign to engender "community" amongst wizards. Part of this campaign was making a show of recruiting purebloods into entry-level positions. Daphne was hired as a clerk in Magical Law Enforcement, and was placed almost immediately in the Auror Division. She hated Aurors, or at least that was the impression she gave, but Daphne had quickly figured out the true power a mere assistant could wield, and Harry knew she wouldn't relinquish her position for something as trivial as mere distaste. No matter how 'boorish' and 'disgusting' she thought the Aurors were. 

Harry thought the entire campaign was a sham. It was completely absurd to believe that it would be that easy to change people's hearts and minds. No one was asking him to play along in it though, so he did his best to ignore it. He didn't mind the recruiting. Daphne was dead perfect at her job. He just had to ignore her occasional snide remarks about other employees. Oddly enough, Harry thought, she seemed to respect him. 

Daphne stood, needlessly smoothing down the front of her always-immaculate robes. "Would you like me to fetch you some dry clothes?" 

"No, I'm fine," Harry said, waving her off. "I do have a few other things I would like you to do. I need you to make contact with Justin Finch-Fletchly. He works for us over at—"

"Interpol, yes, sir," Daphne said with a nod, pulling out a quill and jotting notes on a stack of parchment she had on her desk.

"Have him meet me in my office Monday morning at ten." 

"Right." 

"Take this file." Harry pulled the tiny shrunken file he had lifted from his contact and re-enlarged it to the normal size. "I need you to copy it and send the other one back to the bloke in Brussels without him realising it was missing. Send the copy over to Justin. Muggle repelling charms and—" 

"Yes, the secrecy spells. Don't worry, I will." 

"I really don't need to remind you of all the details, do I?" Harry said with a half smile. 

"No, sir. I've always got it covered," Daphne replied. "This came in a few minutes ago. It needs your signature in three places." Daphne delicately picked up a file from her desk and handed it to Harry.

Harry recognized it right away as a criminal file by its burnt orange colour. He read the number across the top and immediately knew why Daphne treated it like a bomb: it almost was. Wizard Number 051881 was an . . . interesting subject with Harry. 

Had it been any other file, Harry would have quickly scribbled his name in the appropriate places, but this file was special. Harry tried to ignore the heat he felt on the back of his neck, but it was difficult, considering the water dripping from his hair suddenly felt much colder. 

"I'll take this in my office then," Harry said with a poor attempt at sounding casual. 

Once in his office, he threw off his wet coat—he would dry it later—and rubbed his trainers on the rug. More water leaked out, and he sighed, ignoring them. He sat down at his desk and without hesitation, flipped open the file. 

He knew what it would say. He had looked at this file at least once a quarter for the past eight years, and even more frequently the past two. It was professional interest though, Harry told himself. 

The first page was always the same; Draco's mug shot. Harry put the photo flat on his desk and leaned over, studying it closely. 

Draco was still just a boy when it was taken, not yet eighteen. Despite his youth, Draco looked drawn and tired in the photo. No one could blame him. Living two years under Voldemort's thumb never made anyone plucky. Harry stared at the youthful curve of Draco's jaw. It was firmer now that he was older, and fully filled out. His skin in the photo looked smooth and soft, not that different from how it looked now, but only after Draco shaved. In the morning, Draco had thick, raspy-looking stubble. Harry had only seen him that way once or twice; Draco wasn't one to appear in public or private as less than put together. 

Harry remembered the two years Draco lived in Chile. He'd grown a goatee of all things. He had looked like a right idiot with it, and the thought of it still made Harry chuckle. 

He thought about the last time he'd seen Draco. Some parts of his face still looked like they'd never recovered from the war, or perhaps they had, and now his face merely showed new worries. Harry's stomach twisted uncomfortably at this thought. His intent had never been to keep or make Draco unhappy. Quite the opposite, Harry wanted to make Draco happy. No matter how many times Harry told himself it was wrong wrong wrong or that it was purely a platonic friend sort of thing, he still had an inexplicable urge to please Draco. 

Harry half-heartedly flipped through the rest of the file, noting all the places Draco had lived since the war ended. Australia, New Zealand, Morocco, France, the US, Brazil, Chile, Italy, Greece, India, Japan, back to Italy, and finally Spain. He'd been living there for the past two years, which, considering his track record, seemed to indicate that he had put down roots this time. 

Spain was rather nice. The rain wasn't a constant piss there like it was here, at least not where Draco lived. He thought about Draco's warm sprawling flat, the way it looked perfectly Spanish but smelled of English country air mixed with Earl Grey. 

He could check up on Draco any time he liked. He was his parole-officer, or something like that; a title had never been established. What mattered was he was to keep tabs on Draco and a surprise visit was just the sort of thing Draco needed. Harry could think of no better time for a surprise visit. He couldn't just sign the file without double checking first. 

Harry stuffed his feet back into his trainers and grabbed his jacket, not caring that both were still sopping. He walked out of his office and spoke to Daphne without looking at her. "I won't be coming back today. I'm checking up on Wizard Number 051881." 

"I believe you already checked on him last month, sir. You aren't due for another visit until later this quarter," Daphne said. 

Harry smiled at her and shrugged. "I like to surprise him." 

"I'm sure he enjoys it as much as you," Daphne said dryly. 

"He does." 

~~~*~~~

 

Bilbao, Spain

"Merlin's testicles, this day cannot get any worse." 

"No hello kiss?" Harry said, grinning, but only received an eye bulging look from Draco in return that Harry read as 'Shut up.'

"No, not you! Get on with it, Mitchell, I haven't got all day!" Draco said, turning away, obviously not seeing the need to show Harry in. 

The entry hall to Draco's flat was dim, lit only by the scant light from the main room of the flat. Harry shucked off his sodden coat, putting it on the empty hook Draco always insisted he use. Harry's coat was never hung in the hall closet with the other coats, and Harry usually took it as a signal he wasn't meant to stay long. Harry shook his head; as if that had ever made a difference. He toed off his shoes, afraid he'd slip on the hardwood floor and fall on his arse. 

As Harry stepped fully into the flat, he had to squint at the brightness of the room. One side of the flat was entirely made up of casement windows, allowing the mild Bilbao sun to fill the room with its light. It was very dramatic stepping from the hall into this room, which had been the effect Draco was going for when he'd renovated this place. It suited him perfectly. If Draco was anything, it was dramatic. 

As he spoke on the phone, Draco moved about the far end of the room near the kitchen. It was clearly business, as Harry heard discussion of cases, shipments, prices, taste, and the phrase 'horse piss' thrown around again and again. Draco was a wine merchant, and as far as Harry could tell, he was a damn good one. Harry wasn't surprised. Draco had spent a lot of his travel drinking his way through whichever country he was in. If anyone knew where the best of alcohol was, it was Draco. 

He had his back to Harry as he pulled a box of tea from the cabinet. He suddenly whooped, "Yes!" and took the phone away from his ear, setting it on the counter. 

"Good news I take it?" Harry asked, sliding to sit on the stool at the bar of Draco's kitchen. 

Draco turned and glared at him, "It must have been. For a minute I forgot you were here. Why the hell are you so wet? And why does your hair always look like you got pulled the wrong way through the hedgerow?" 

"I keep it this way just for you," Harry said. He grinned and ran his hands through it, flinging water onto the counter. 

Draco looked at him in disgust. "You'll remember I haven't got a house-elf, you'll clean that up."

Harry grabbed the cuff of his jumper and pulled it down. Holding it tightly in his hand, he then very deliberately rubbed his forearm across the counter, wiping up the water with his sleeve.

"You really are revolting." 

Harry laughed. It made him feel comfortable to needle Draco like this. It was either poke him with a stick or snog him. Since the latter wasn't an option, he would continue to poke. 

"Tea? Earl Grey, your favourite," Draco said, dropping a bag of tea into each of the two teacups sitting on the counter. He pointed his wand at the kettle, which immediately began to whistle. 

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, thank you." Yes it was his favourite, but he had never said as much to Draco, and it wasn't as though they sat around having tea all that often. 

Draco turned to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of milk and without asking first, poured some in Harry's tea, then his own. "Sugar," Draco said, sliding the bowl across the counter to Harry. 

"Thanks," Harry said, blinking in confusion. Spiteful, cutting remarks were the norm with Draco. He was never rude, nor had Harry ever had the impression that Draco knew him all that intimately. Granted, knowing how someone takes their tea wasn't exactly like knowing what side of the bed they preferred, but it was a detail about Harry that he never would have thought Draco would recall. 

"Am I allowed to ask why the hell you're here? I know you're allowed to make surprise visits, but I don't sit around my flat waiting for you. I have a job, I'm a busy man. I suppose you're staying the night. Can't have a proper study like I want, have to keep a guest room because you will show up the minute I think it's all right to put some shelving up." 

Ah, there it was. Draco would be politeness and charm only to soften the blow before saying something like that. 

"No, you're not allowed. You need constant reminders to be a good boy, and that's my job." 

"Piss off," Draco said testily, walking out of the kitchen to the sitting area. He grabbed his white, streamlined looking laptop, sat down, and began to work. Harry turned on his stool and stood to follow him. He briefly thought about putting his cup on the table as he passed it, but then remembered the one time he had put a drink on the table and nearly got skinned. 'The table's worth more than you. It's reclaimed wood from a monastery that used to be in the area. Use a coaster or go thirsty.'

The last thing Harry wanted was Draco this venomous the entire visit. "Draco, look, I'll leave. I didn't come to cause a row." 

Draco waved him off. "Don't apologize or explain yourself or whatever it was you were doing. Stay. I have work to do, so keep quiet and you can ask me your bleeding mandatory list of questions later. We'll go to that place you like for dinner, and after you're tipsy, then I let you ask the questions. I love how your drunken handwriting looks." 

"You know nothing about my drunken handwriting," Harry said, trying to keep from smiling. 

"I know that I love it. Now shut up. I'm busy."

~*~

"What is this called again?"

"Pintxos." 

"And why are there eggs? Aren't eggs a breakfast food?"

Draco sighed heavily at Harry as he fiddled with the stem of his glass with his thin, pale fingers. "Only an English dolt like you would want eggs for breakfast in Spain. No one here eats eggs for breakfast. It's disgusting." 

"You're English," Harry retorted before taking a bite of his small food, something incredibly tasty wrapped in a tiny tortilla. He would finish that before moving on to the bread bacon cheese thing that he loved. 

"I didn't say all English. I said 'dolt' as well, meaning you." The insult was said with no malice at all, and what Harry would have sworn was a smile. "Another glass?" Draco asked, reaching for the bottle of red they were sharing.

"Course," Harry replied, noticing Draco wasn't even half-way through his first and Harry was already moving on to his second. "What's wrong? You don't like it?" Draco shook his head and waited until he swallowed to answer. 

"I'd never pay for something I didn't like. It's quite a good bottle. Tempranillo from la Rioja. I don't drink as much as I used to."

"Since when?" Harry said trying to remember the last time he saw Draco off his face. Two years ago? Maybe three? 

"Since I realized a drunken stupor isn't going to make anything better." 

"What's so bad?" Harry asked. 

"All this." Draco gestured in a way as if to present the entire restaurant to Harry. "Living like a Muggle in fucking Spain of all places."

"No one is forcing you to live like a Muggle," Harry said, pronouncing Muggle in that dirty sort of way that Draco meant. 

Draco snorted. "No one is going to hire someone with a criminal file as thick as mine. Even if they didn't know my criminal record, my name is tainted enough, couldn't get a job if I offered to work for free. Besides, it's not the Muggle part that bothers me, it's Spain." 

"Spain is brilliant," Harry said. "Where you live is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. Beaches, mountains everywhere…" 

"If you were chained here every day, you would never recognise it." Draco picked up his glass of wine but then put it back down. 

"Er—so no drinking? Isn't that an occupational hazard?" 

"Wine was never my thing. Well, it is, but it gives me a wretched headache, and I only ever drank it if there weren't any other options, or if I was already pissed. Gin and whisky, gin and whisky, repeat. It was like mother's milk."

"So you stopped." 

"No, I got smart. Gin doesn't make Spain not Spain or Chile not Chile, or wherever else I lived. Whisky fails in that magical regard as well." 

Harry felt awkward and taken unawares. Sure, he knew Draco drank too much when he was around Harry, but Harry always thought that was because he couldn't stand the sight of him, and that other than his visits, Draco led a 'normal' life. "I had no idea." 

"How could you? You weren't with me every day. See? Half a glass and I can't shut my fucking mouth about my issues. This is another reason not to drink. Besides, it doesn't matter now that I've slowly clawed my way out of denial. Are you going to eat more, or are you ready for some coffee or Patxaran?"

What Harry wanted was to ask more questions, get to know Draco more, understand him, but he reminded himself this was business, and his interest in Draco at this point was far from professional. 

The night air was damp and cold as they walked back to Draco's flat. Draco kept his hands in his black, thigh length jacket. Harry noticed it was cut perfectly to show of the trimness of Draco's waist, the broadness of his shoulders, and his long, lean legs. He looked tall and sexy. 

Harry bit his tongue hard as he thought that, trying to bring himself back to reality. He had drunk too much and his desire would run away with him if he didn't keep his head on at least half-way straight. Besides, if that kind of opportunity ever presented itself, he wanted to be stone cold sober when it happened. He wanted it to be real, not alcohol-induced, not only so he'd be able to remember it, but because he didn't want to regret it or for either of them to use it as an excuse. 

Harry bit his tongue harder this time. Even when trying not to think of Draco in a sexual way, his thoughts helplessly circled back. It was insane, really. The Auror and the Habitual Criminal. It was like something out of a novel or a film. There was no way that could end well in reality. 

"When you come back in the spring, I'll take you out to the country. They have these cider houses where you pay one price and you can drink until you pass out." 

Harry waved him off. "No, I'm fine, thanks. I drank too much tonight as it is." The streetlights pulsed at him, and he felt light and fluid. 

Draco glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and smirked. "You had three glasses and an after dinner drink." 

"I'm a cheap date," Harry said lightly, and somehow refrained from biting his tongue for a third time. "Two, maybe three pints is usually my limit. I'm on call all the time. It's not exactly proper for the next Head Auror to show up drunk or hung-over. When I'm here, m'not on call. Tracking my pet criminal is much more important." 

Draco stopped walking."Head Auror? You're going to be Head Auror?" 

Harry turned back to look at him and shrugged. "It's what they want, what I want too…I think."

"Why you though?" Draco asked, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and suddenly looking very annoyed.

"Don't know if you've heard, but I'm Harry Potter and that means something to people, or at least I'm told."

"I've heard," Draco replied with a scowl.

"That's something I like about you," Harry said. "You never treat me as though I'm special. I've always been shit to you."

Draco's lips twitched; practically a full on smile for him. "At the very most, you are shit to me." 

"Thank you." Harry shook his head and glanced down at his feet, unable to keep from smiling himself. "Always counting on you, Malfoy, to keep me humble." 

Draco rolled his eyes and continued walking. "You're welcome, Potter." 

A block from Draco's flat, it started to rain, cold and icy. They quickened their pace and ran inside, shaking water from their hair as they shucked their coats. Harry went straight to the loo, the damn wine running straight through him.

The flat was dimly lit when he emerged, the only light spilling from the kitchen. Draco stood in the sitting area staring out at the rain through one of the windows. His expression was somewhere between mournful and peaceful. Harry walked very tentatively over to stand by him, not wanting to disturb his pensive mood. 

He stared out the window, pretending to be interested in the scenery, but his gaze was wholly focused on Draco's reflection. Draco looked even paler in the glass, his cheeks much more angular. He looked…delicate. 

"I miss England," Draco said, crossing his arms and stubbornly staring out the glass. "Doesn't usually rain here. Not like it does at home—England, I mean." Draco said 'England' much louder the second time, trying to cover up the word he said before it. 

"I gave you your freedom," Harry whispered. 

"Some bloody freedom it is. Kicked out of my own homeland is what I am," Draco said harshly. 

"I tried. You know I did—" 

"Don't remind me. Your name means something except when you use it to help me. I'm so bad not even you can save me." Draco continued to look out the window, face now hard, eyes impenetrable. 

"I'm sorry. I never thought—"

"That they would kick me out and stick you to me as my special parole advisor? No, even in your wildest dreams, I don't think you ever thought you'd end up as my own personal jailer. Tasked with keeping me out. I'm exiled and old, and now I'm losing my hair as an added bonus." 

"Old. Right. A whole month and a half older than me. Ancient," Harry said, taking the sarcastic route. Draco's punishment had been a bit harsh, but it wasn't as though he hadn't been completely blameless. Still, he'd been young and stupid, and caught up in something far bigger than the both of them. Draco had never apologized, but Harry had forgiven him a long time ago. He was well acquainted with 'young and stupid.' It ran in the family. 

"I'm never drinking around you again. A bit of rain makes me maudlin, and here I am, acting like an idiot. God, I'm pathetic." Draco exhaled in disgust and shook his head. 

Harry didn't know what to say. Draco wouldn't accept words of comfort from him, and really, what could he possibly say? Harry was never very good at saying the right thing when someone was truly upset. 

He stood quietly, staring at Draco's reflection in the rain-spattered window. The wet glass distorted his features, but was unable to hide the tightly clenched jaw nor the haunted look in his eyes. 

Perhaps it was the wine. It certainly wasn't natural instinct, and the repercussions could prove disastrous in the wake of Draco's penchant towards biting sarcasm, but he didn't care, He took a step closer and put his arm around Draco, pulled him close, and lightly kissed him on the temple. 

"It's okay," Harry whispered. 

~*~

This was bad. This was very, very bad. Harry stood at the sink, gripping the basin as he took deep, calming breaths. Humid air swirled around him and clung to his body. He could smell Draco's shampoo and after-shave. Damn it! If he hadn't drank so bloody much, he would have awoken first and showered first then he wouldn't be standing here smelling Draco and reliving last night over and over again in his head. 

Nothing had happened. Not that this made him feel better. Nothing had happened, but the fact remained that hugging your exiled prisoner and kissing him on the bloody temple was not a good idea. Not at all. Especially now, when it was obvious that he had had somehow, impossibly, fallen for Draco. His seventeen-year-old self stared back at him through the half-fogged mirror and laughed.

"Christ," he exclaimed softly, blinking. "Bloody hangover." 

After Harry had put his arm around Draco, they had stood like that for maybe half a minute before Draco pushed him away and muttered something about suing the Ministry over sexual harassment if Harry ever touched him again. The problem was that Draco hadn't pushed him very hard, and his words had lacked conviction.

Harry used his sleeve to clear the vapour from the mirror and looked at himself. Hair more wild than ever and eyes red rimmed and blood shot. 

"Have a shower, go home, and have a wank." Or he could have a wank in the shower… Perhaps it was only sexual. Their history aside, Draco was an attractive man and Harry wasn't blind. He could handle desire easily enough. It was these feelings of compassion that he didn't know what to do with. Bugger it! he thought. 

Harry was much better at action than thinking, so he quickly turned on the shower and shucked off his clothes. He tried to be cold and detached about stroking himself. The usual morning wood; Draco had nothing to do with it. Being academic about a wank wasn't going to work though. He slid his left hand over his chest, circling the pad of his thumb over his right nipple. 

The scent of Draco's soap surrounded him, thick, foamy suds forming as he worked his cock back and forth. Fantasies, hundreds of them, all about Draco, raced through his mind. He couldn't settle on one but it didn't matter; each glimpse only heightened his pleasure, and in the end, it did what he wanted it to do. 

Hot water drummed against his back as he hunched forward, his forehead against the cool tile, taking deep breaths. The sense of urgency had left him, swirling down the drain with the soapy water. He felt better already, and he'd be home within the hour. 

~~~*~~~

 

March.  
London, England

He much preferred being out in the field; office work was boring as hell. Nothing even remotely stimulating about it. He stared at the quill hovering above the papers on his desk and wished it could be like his old History of Magic class; he would nap and Hermione would get all the notes down. 

Harry was in a holding pattern on his present case, waiting for two background checks from his contact at Scotland Yard before he could continue. In the meantime, he was stuck here in the office, catching up on the gigantic backlog of file work. 

"Harry?" Daphne called, knocking on his door and opening it. Harry looked up and the quill fell to the desk, leaving an inky blot in the middle of the unfinished report. "You're late for that meeting. It started five minutes ago." 

"Oh! Right! Crap." Harry stood and grabbed his robes from the back of his chair, throwing them on in a hurry. 

"You missed a button," Daphne said helpfully. 

"Thanks. What's with you? You're usually more upset when I cock up my schedule." 

"You've been out of the office so much lately. I've missed you."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Daphne lips twitched. "Since you're here, I don't have to take any messages and you're finally doing all the tedious paperwork that always piles up on my desk."

"Glad I could be here and give you a chance to sit on your arse," Harry replied dryly. 

Daphne smiled "It's always appreciated, sir. Now off with you. Don't want to miss the entire meeting or else they'll send me the notes to transcribe for you."

Harry took the stairs instead of the lift. He only had to go up one floor. 

As he expected, the meeting had already begun when he arrived. He slipped in quietly, finding the first empty chair, and sat down. He looked discreetly around the room and realized that no one else was from his department. The person conducting the meeting was Constance Simon. She did something in the publicity department, though Harry wasn't exactly sure what. Harry also wasn't exactly sure what this meeting was about, since he hadn't bothered to look at his calendar. It must be something he wanted nothing to do with if Daphne hadn't bothered to remind him. 

The person next to Harry nudged him with their elbow and slid a big packet over to him. Harry looked around the table and saw everyone flipping through their own copies. On the purple cover, emblazoned in elaborate gold leaf, was the acronym 'WEC'. Harry exhaled in disgust, receiving several sharp looks from people around him. 

Harry despised the meetings on the Wizarding Equality Campaign. He had attended two previously: the first when the program was rolled out; the second he'd walked out of halfway through, claiming another important, work-related engagement. He and Abel Towler, the current Head Auror, were told that they should look for more potential Pureblood Aurors. Both Harry and Towler had refused, saying they would take on only those applicants who were qualified, blood status be damned.

If Harry remembered correctly, Towler had said, "I've never given a thestral's arse who I hire. I'd accept a hermaphrodite centaur with tits as long as they meet the standard." Only someone like Towler, an Auror since Merlin was in nappies, could get away with putting it that way, though Harry agreed whole-heartedly with the sentiment. 

As Constance droned on about the new campaign, Harry flipped through his booklet, trying to glean some insight as to why he was here. He turned a page and exhaled sharply. 

It was a full-page advertisement, with a large photograph that showed him helping a very old witch by carrying her shopping bags around Diagon Alley. He was dressed in his full Auror uniform, his arms laden with bags from various shops, as she led him down the cobbled street. From her clothing, Harry assumed she was supposed to be an older, pureblood woman. Her expensive looking, dark green, velvet robes were fastened with silver snake clasps and the bags he carried were all from the finest shops. Above the photograph ran the WEC slogan, We are all one wizard, in the same bright gold lettering as the cover of the information booklet. 

"What the hell is this?" Harry said, interrupting Constance. His pulse throbbed at his temple. 

"Harry, so glad you could join us. I was worried you wouldn't be in the office today," she replied, her voice smooth and condescending. 

He narrowed his eyes. He picked up his pamphlet and waved it in his hand. "What the hell is this?" he asked again, this time through gritted teeth. 

"Why, it's our new ad campaign. Don't you look wonderful?"

"You didn't ask me," Harry said, rising to his feet and doing his best to hold his temper 

"I would think if anyone wanted a harmonious wizarding community it would be you." 

"This campaign isn't going to change a damned thing. This is disgusting. I didn't even pose for this. You manipulated the whole thing—" 

"All to save you time, of course," Constance said, interrupting him. "We all know what a busy schedule you have. We just need you to sign off on the campaign and we're—" 

"No." 

Harry kicked his chair out of the way as he walked around the table doing his best to keep his voice level. "I am not your poster boy. I'm not going to let you trot me out there like a ministry puppet. You don't get to use me for your foul public relations stunts." 

Harry slammed the door behind him and stormed down the stairs back to his office. He flew through the door, startling Daphne, and threw the booklet on her desk. 

"Burn that," was all he said before going to his office and slamming the door behind him. 

Harry paced, anger making him unable to hold still. He wanted to get the hell out of here, not stuck behind a bloody desk. Why weren't those damned background checks done yet? He hated how slow it could be working with other organizations. Patience had never been one of his virtues. He needed to do something, go somewhere, anywhere but the bloody Ministry.

An image of Draco flashed in his mind, and he paused, mid-pace. Spain was certainly far away from the Ministry. It was part of his job after all. Harry winced, shoving the thought from his mind. No, he really couldn't go there. That, on the whole, was a very bad idea. 

~~~*~~~

 

April  
London, England 

"Harry, you old sheep shagger, get in here!" 

Towler's assistant rolled his eyes but kept to his work. Harry walked in the office and closed the door behind him. 

"Don't sit," Towler said in his gravelly voice without looking up. Harry never sat in Towler's office. Towler was always quick and to the point; he never kept anyone long enough to bother. 

"This WEC thing," Towler began. "You know what I'm talking about?"

"The Equality Campaign. Yes, sir, I know it," Harry said, the disgust dripping from his voice. Towler had no doubt called him in here to tell him about the trainee they were going to be forced to take on. N.E.W.T.s had not yet been taken this year, but Harry and Towler had already openly recruited three students set to finish Hogwarts in June, none of whom were purebloods. In fact, only one pureblood had expressed an interest in applying, but they didn't have the Transfiguration or the Potions marks at this point to qualify. 

"You're going to sign off on this new advertisement." Towler waved his hand in the air like he hardly knew what he was talking about. 

"What?" Harry said, stunned. 

"Your face for the ad, sign off on it." 

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't think you can tell me—"

"Shut it, Potter. Your refusal didn't go over well. They've made it my problem, now I'm making it your problem. I don't have the time to deal with this idiocy. I'm not asking you, I am ordering you. You're dismissed." Towler grabbed the next file he was working on and didn't say another word. Harry stood there seething for a moment, turned on his heel, and slammed the door behind him. 

He stormed back to his office, composing his resignation letter in his head and simultaneously wondering if he could use his friendship with the Minister to get out of this. That was the problem. He didn't want to be used for show, but to then turn around and use his connections in such a way smacked of hypocrisy. 

He should go see Hermione. She would know of some law or regulation to keep him out of this. If she was busy, he could head over to the joke shop in Diagon Alley. Ron might not be able to solve his problem, but he would at least be indignant on Harry's behalf and make him laugh about it. Harry started rifling through papers, files, broken quills and scraps on his desk, looking for his calendar to make sure he didn't have anything pressing before he left. 

"Sir?" Daphne said, knocking on his door and opening it. Harry grunted in reply and kept rifling through his desk. Where was that thing? 

"Did you get the reminder I gave you?" 

"Um, yeah, sure," Harry said, barely listening as he tried to prise open the left bottom drawer which always stuck. "What was it again?" 

Daphne huffed and shook her head, and sat down in a chair in front of Harry's desk. "What's the use of keeping a calendar and sending you reminders if you never pay attention? Makes my whole day pointless." 

"Daphne," Harry said, looking up, "if you've come in here to criticize me or tell me how unappreciated you are, now is not the time." 

Daphne narrowed her dark eyes at him and her nostrils pinched together. She stood up, heading for the door. "Your reminder was that your Portkey leaves in twenty minutes. I hope your bag is packed." 

"What?" Harry moved swiftly around his desk to catch her. 

"Your quarterly visit with your…prisoner. You're scheduled for the next five days."

"What? No, I'm too busy. I have field work. This has to be cancelled. It's only April! It's too early in the quarter," Harry said, trying to keep any hint of pleading from his voice. 

"You're all cleared to go. I made sure of it, just like you asked in January. If you look at your calendar—which is in your bag to the left of your desk, same as always—you'll see you're clear until Tuesday." Daphne looked pleased with herself, as though sending him off to Spain would surely teach him a lesson for snapping at her. 

"Shit," Harry said, leaning over and grabbing his bag. "Shit, shit, shit." 

He seized the calendar from his leather satchel and pulled it out, nearly tearing the cover in his haste. The book snapped at his fingers, and the pages flipped themselves over to the current week. Five days had been boxed off, and in Daphne's curly script, it read, Draco Malfoy. 

"Shit!" 

"Told you."

~~~*~~~

 

Bilbao, Spain

Harry sat brooding in Draco's cool, dark office. The entire warehouse was cool to keep the wine at the perfect temperature. He could hear Draco out on the main floor shouting instructions at someone, and shoved his hands under his arms, trying to keep them warm. His left leg jiggled with impatience. He was supposed to be observing Draco working, but that was the last thing he felt like doing right now. 

Draco had a way of moving his hands when he spoke, and his hips would tilt when he leant up against something. Hell, just seeing the cut of his trousers would be bad enough. Harry was having a rotten day. The whole WEC fiasco had him in a temper, and with his emotions so close to the surface, his self-control was severely lacking. 

When Harry had walked into Draco's office, he had immediately felt it. He'd expected it, but it had still overwhelmed him. God help him, he wanted Draco. The snide remarks about Harry's tardiness and smudged glasses had only intensified the feeling. He'd been sorely tempted to shut Draco's cheeky mouth, and not by use of his hand or wand. 

"How much is the Ministry paying you these days?" Draco asked, walking into the office. 

"It's none of your damn business," Harry said sharply. 

"Aren't we delightful today? I was only asking because I believe you are supposed to observe me, not sit here and stare at the wall. Must be nice to get paid to loaf about. " 

"Shut up, Draco," Harry said continuing to stare at the front of Draco's black desk. 

Draco didn't say anything but Harry could tell he was looking at him. Draco walked behind his desk and began putting things away. He pulled his bag down from a hook, set it on his desk, and began looking through it. Harry chanced a glance at him, and their eyes met, Draco's crinkled with curiosity at the corners. His eyes were quite attractive; light irises framed by thick, pale eyelashes and punctuated by his smooth brows. 

Harry looked away. 

Draco continued to pack his bag in silence. He switched off his computer, closed his bag, and walked to the door. Harry might as well have been invisible; Draco didn't even spare him an eye flick as he walked out the door. Harry sighed and stood, following resolutely behind him. 

Draco always walked home. Through the square, two blocks down and one block up. Harry could have made the walk in his sleep. 

They hurried across the road, avoiding oncoming traffic, and stepped onto the cobbles of the large square. The weather was perfect, not too warm, not too cold, and a light salty breeze from the ocean wove its way through the city. The sleeves of Draco's blue checked shirt were rolled up to just bellow his elbows. He held onto the strap his shoulder bag with his left hand, the lean muscles in his forearms flexing. 

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away, vainly trying to focus his thoughts on Towler and work, things that were literally hundreds of miles away now. Much better than thinking about the things in front of him, or in this case, to his immediate right. 

"Are you going to be this companionable for the entire visit?" Draco said conversationally. 

"I'm fine," Harry growled. 

"Of course you are. Cranky and brooding is your natural state. Actually, I think I like you better like this. Can't be work that's bothering you, they all worship you there. Not getting shagged enough is a distinct possibility. Dumped by another Weasley, I'd wager. How long are you going to keep going back to that well? It'll dry up on you one day, unless adultery is something you'd consider—" 

"God damn it, Draco, shut up!" Harry shouted, and Draco chuckled, self-satisfied. It drove Harry over the top and the dam burst. "You want to know what's wrong? I'll tell you then you can shut your fucking mouth."

"Oooh, fucking mouth. This ought to be good." Harry shot him a look and Draco clamped his mouth shut, a smirk still playing on it. 

"I don't know if you've heard of the WEC—" 

"Wizarding Equality Campaign." Harry's brows shot up in surprise. "In Spain, not dead, remember? It's how Daphne got her job with you, if I recall correctly," Draco said. 

"Right, the same one. They want me to be their god damn bloody poster boy. When I refused, they got to Towler, my boss, and he's ordered me to agree to it. It's utter bollocks, and it's infuriating. They can't cart me out every time something isn't going their way!" 

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but Daphne is a brilliant assistant, is she not?" Draco asked, arching one of those brows Harry had admired a few minutes earlier. 

"'Course she's brilliant. What's that got to do with it?" 

"I don't understand why you hate the campaign if you've enjoyed the benefits so far," Draco said with a shrug. 

"Daphne would've got the job regardless. Campaign or not, she's good. My problem is how they advertise and force hiring initiatives, trying to show me off like it's going to change everything. It hasn't even been ten years! Media stunts like that are rubbish. You're not going to change hearts and minds through condescension and coercion." 

"Good to hear you say that. We're not charity cases either," Draco said. 

"Exactly," Harry said, suddenly warm with relief that someone understood him so well. "I should've known if anyone would understand it would be you. There's no love lost between you and the Ministry." 

Draco stopped dead in his tracks. 

"Take that back," he said quietly. 

"Take what back? I don't understand," Harry said turning to him. 

"We are not suddenly joined at the hip because of this. The Ministry trying to use you like they always have and me being exiled are not the same thing." 

Harry snorted. "Right, I forgot. Whatever the situation, no one else can possibly relate. You have it much worse." He turned away and continued walking.

Draco grabbed Harry's elbow and spun him round to face him. "Do not imply that I am some snivelling child. Persona non grata, Harry. Or did you forget? I was sixteen years old, not even an adult, my father in prison and the Dark Lord in my house. I was an arrogant prat and I made some bad choices, but I was scared and I was alone, and I had to protect my mother. I told them this, you told them this. And it made no difference. They took away everything that was important to me, not just my home, my country, but everything that defined who I am. 

"I'm not some gormless idiot of a wizard, I'm a bloody good one but no one would ever know. I've been restricted to a few every day spells that require little talent or skill. I work for fucking Muggles. My father couldn't even look at me the two times he bothered to visit me. His son reduced to nothing. My fucking joke of a life. Your Ministry did this to me! They kicked me in the bollocks after they fucked me over, and I remember it every minute of every day!" Draco's chest was rising and falling with the bitterness of his words. His eyes blazed and his knuckles were white as he held Harry's arm in a bruising grip. 

"Yeah, the Ministry fucking you over? I sure wouldn't get that." 

Harry wrenched his arm away. The old scars on the back of his hand suddenly felt tight. "I was sixteen when they tried to use me and barely seventeen when they put a price on my head!"

"That was then, this is now," Draco said through gritted teeth. "Those people are gone. The current Ministry prides itself on being better, more open-minded than the old regime, don't they? Well, not from where I'm standing they aren't, and you're one of them." 

"Fuck you! Don't you dare judge me together with them. I never wanted this for you! You should be sitting in your manor counting your fucking galleons and looking down on the rest of us. I tried! I didn't even like you, and I still tried!" 

Draco took a step back, his eyes narrowed, but his gaze still locked on Harry. "I know. I know you aren't them," he said quietly. "But every time you come here I have to remind myself you aren't here because you're my friend. We were never friends. Even now, after all these years, I don't know what the hell this is, what we are. Friendly enemies? Acquaintances by necessity? But the point remains; you're here because it's your job to be here. I think of you as them because I have to. It keeps me from being. . . disappointed." 

"I would hate to disappoint you," Harry said thickly, and before Draco could reply, Harry gripped the back of his neck and pulled him firmly into a kiss. As Draco's mouth softened against his and he kissed Harry back with equal intensity, everything melted away. Their argument, Harry's work, the fact that Harry should absolutely not be doing this; all gone. 

Harry inhaled sharply through his nose and snaked his arm around Draco's waist, pulling him in closer. 

"Mot hur," Draco mumbled against his mouth. 

"Huh?" Harry said as Draco pulled away. 

"We're in the middle of the Square and people are staring. I can't handle you snogging me while you rub your cock against me either. It's, well, it makes me want to do things that are inappropriate for public scrutiny." 

"Things?"

"Like rip your clothes off and lick every inch of your body. That would be very inappropriate, not to mention I'm not an advocate of public sex. You'd have to Obliviate the Muggles when they come to arrest us. Try explaining that one to the Spanish and British Ministries." Draco wiggled out of Harry's arms, straightening his shirt and needlessly smoothing his hair. 

Harry grinned. It was gratifying to see Draco come undone like this. Harry wanted to take him home and see if he could reduce him to incoherent babbling. 

"May I walk you home then?" Harry asked, putting his hands casually in his pockets. 

Draco looked at him with a dumbfounded expression. "I would have wagered my arse that you were the hand holding type." 

"I am," Harry said. "However, I'd wager you're not." 

"Not as thick as you look. Hand holding is right up there with public sex." 

"I'll wear you down." 

"Good luck with that," Draco said, hoisting his bag back on his shoulder and heading home, Harry by his side.   
~*~

Harry's fingertips traced the knobs of Draco's spine, and Draco curled into the touch. He slid the palms of his hands across Draco's sides up to his chest, leaving goose flesh in his wake, brushed Draco's nipples with the pads of his thumbs. Draco's entire body shivered under his touch. Harry groaned while trying to raise his hips to grind against Draco who was sitting astride Harry's lap, but Draco squeezed Harry's thighs with his knees, holding Harry firmly in place. 

"Not in my office," Draco growled, holding Harry's bottom lip between his teeth. Harry opened his eyes to look at Draco but he was all blurry. The minute they started snogging, Harry had removed his glasses, he didn't need them getting all bent up like they had the other night. 

Harry impishly licked across Draco's top lip, and Draco released his bottom lip so he could wipe his mouth. "Don't lick me. It makes me feel like you're a dog. Stop that." 

Harry wrapped his arms tightly around Draco, pulling him close and pressing his face to the crook of Draco's neck. "Why not in your office," Harry asked, softly biting on Draco's neck. "It'll just take a minute." Harry tried again to angle his hips up, but Draco dug his knees into the sides of Harry's thighs once again, keeping him in place. 

"A minute? You're doing a really poor job convincing me to change my mind." 

Harry took this as a challenge. If Draco's mind was willing, Harry could certainly change it.

"Let me," Harry breathed against Draco's flushed skin. "Take out your cock. I want to touch you." Harry tried yet again to lift his hips, and this time Draco let him. 

"Have a meeting to go to," Draco said before smoothly unstraddling Harry. 

"What? No! Draco, come on!" Harry looked down at the erection tenting his jeans as if it would help him at all in this situation. 

Draco looked at Harry with narrowed eyes then down at Harry's crotch. "A couple minutes of snogging and you're already that excited. I really am as attractive as I imagine myself to be." 

"It's because it's been four days," Harry said indignantly. 

"Surely it's been longer than that. Unless you're keeping something from me and you shagged someone right before you arrived." Draco quirked his brow in a way that let Harry know he was being teased. 

"You know what I mean," Harry huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. He could hear Draco's breathy chuckle but he refused to turn his head. 

Harry tried to think of anything that would make his erection go away. Uncle Vernon naked usually did the trick. He bit his lower lip, concentrating. It was swollen, and like the rest of his face, felt a little raw. Four days of marathon snogging had a few minor consequences. 

After kissing Draco on the street that night, Harry had been ready to go back to the flat and do anything and everything. As far as Harry was concerned, the bridge to Draco had not only been crossed, but destroyed. There was no going back now; he wanted all of it. Whether or not Draco felt the same, Harry still didn't know. 

When Harry had made to move past kissing and touching, Draco had firmly stopped him saying, "I'm not a cheap date, Potter." Since then, it had been four days of snogging and a lot of wanking, in the shower, and in the guest bedroom, where he'd been relegated every night. It was almost more than he could stand, his patience running thin, his frustration high. They spent nearly every waking moment together. 

Harry tried to busy himself by actually working, filling out the required reports and forms, but to do those properly he had to observe Draco. Watching Draco's every move did nothing to get his mind off what he really wanted. Not that Draco made it easier, the bloody tease. 

"I'm meeting with two employees in the room next door. You can come but you'll keep your mouth shut. You also aren't allowed to sigh because you're bored," Draco said. Harry chanced a look at him out of the corner of his eye, but Draco was busy writing something down.

Draco gave these same instructions to Harry every time they interacted with his business associates, and introductions consisted of a brief, "This is Harry, ignore him." 

"Draco?" Harry said finally turning back and looking at him. "Who do you tell them I am?" 

"Who?" Draco said not looking up. "My employees?"

"Them, too, but I meant your clients and associates." 

"No one really asks, but if they do, I tell them you're my parole advisor," Draco said, putting down his fountain pen and looking up at Harry. 

"You tell them the truth?" Harry said, surprised. 

"'Course I do. What good does it do me to lie? I also tell them I've been kicked out of England for war crimes. Those that believe me tend to be afraid of me, and the others think I'm having them on. It's not as though they can run a computer search to investigate my history. Outside of my business, I don't exist in their world." 

Draco grabbed two files off his desk and stood to leave his office. "Are you coming, or are you going to take a nap on my sofa? I would recommend the nap. You'll need resting up for later." Without a further word, Draco left for his meeting, leaving Harry with a sense of optimism for what 'later' might bring. 

~*~

Harry had hoped Draco would be too knackered to go out for dinner so that he could have him entirely to himself for the whole night, but Draco insisted that they go to an area of the city called Casco Viejo. As far as Harry could tell, it was very popular. Draco talked Harry's ear off almost the entire night as they walked around, and then took two hours to eat dinner. 

By time their meal was finished, it was past midnight, and Harry was expected back at the Ministry in the morning. He had to practically beg Draco to return to his flat, and was suspicious that this had been Draco's plan all along; wear Harry out so he didn't pout about sex. Again. 

Harry was already yawning as they walked into Draco's dark flat. 

"I've got a bottle Txakoli I procured from this vineyard I've been anxious to work with. You should try some before you go to bed," Draco said, unlacing his shoes and sliding them off. He never toed off his shoes like Harry did, claiming it would scuff them. 

"What's ch-ack…or whatever you just said," Harry asked. 

"It's a Basque white wine. It's considered a sparkling wine but it's not very bubbly. It's very dry, you'll like it." 

Draco walked towards the kitchen, turning on a single overhead light. Harry followed him slowly, doing his best not to yawn again. He wanted to stay awake with Draco but he was exhausted, and a glass of wine wasn't going to help in that regard. 

Harry walked past the guest room thinking, fleetingly, of the soft down comforter in there. He was too tired to wank tonight, and all he wanted to do was to crawl beneath it and close his eyes. With that thought he suddenly he realized he'd never seen Draco's bedroom. In all the times he'd been here over the past two years, he'd never stepped foot in there. He'd wanted Draco to feel as though he had some privacy and personal space. Curiosity piqued, Harry suddenly felt more awake. The circumstances had changed between them, and he wanted to see it. 

He turned around and strode to the other end of the flat where Draco's bedroom was. Harry had never gone further down that hallway than the bathroom. 

"Harry?" Draco called after him, followed by the sound of a cork popping. Harry ignored Draco and kept going. 

He reached the doorway and took out his wand, the lamps along the walls springing to life with a simple swish and flick. Harry knew that if any room in the flat were to look as though a wizard lived there, it would be Draco's bedroom. 

There was a very large bed as Harry had suspected, but it was neither modern nor something suited to a manor house. The wide, off-white coloured headboard was padded and quilted. The large squishy-looking pillows were white, and there was a carved wooden bench at the foot of the bed, Draco's trousers, socks, and pants for the next day already neatly stacked to one side of it. The shirt, Harry assumed, still hung in the wardrobe to keep it wrinkle-free. Harry smiled at Draco dressing with such care that he picked out his clothes twenty-four hours ahead of time. 

There were the same large casement windows as the rest of the flat on the outside wall. Against the adjacent wall was a writing desk, and Harry could see two framed photos sitting atop it. There were no photos anywhere else in the flat, and while it was nicely and tastefully furnished, it had always struck Harry as somewhat impersonal. Harry ached to peek at the photos, but held himself in check. 

Beside the desk was a bookshelf filled to capacity. Harry was again curious, wanting to know what types of books Draco read. That wouldn't be too personal, he thought, stepping quietly across the carpet. 

"As scary as you thought it would be?" Draco asked, suddenly appearing behind him with two filled wine glasses in hand.

"Thought there would be bolts in the ceiling and at the very least, some leather straps," Harry said, looking over his shoulder and cracking a smile. 

"Oh, it's there," Draco practically purred, "You just have to know the correct spell to make it appear." 

Harry raised his eyebrows and turned to face Draco. "What's the spell?" 

"You have to earn it," Draco said coyly, and offered Harry a glass. "Drink?" 

Harry shook his head, wrapping his arms around Draco and pulling him in for a kiss. Draco pulled away to keep from spilling the wine. 

"My tasteful decorating is that good." Draco walked to his bed and set the glasses down on the bedside table. "One glance at my room and you're gagging for it. You haven't even tried out the bed yet. You should. It's amazing." Draco's drawled emphasis on the last word made Harry's skin tingle. 

Draco put his hand out to draw Harry into him. He leaned in close, almost kissing Harry, his gaze roving over Harry's entire face, from his hair, to his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, and back to his eyes again. 

"God, you're gorgeous, almost as good as this room." Draco pulled Harry in for a slow, soft kiss. Draco's tongue moved into Harry's mouth, and to Harry's surprise he tasted a little bit like wine. 

It must be the Txakoli, he thought. As proper etiquette would require, Draco had taken a sip before filling Harry's glass, making sure the bottle was perfect. 

"You tasted the wine," Harry said against Draco's mouth. "Are your manners always so fucking perfect?" 

"If you think they are, then yes," Draco said in a rush, before hurrying to capture Harry's mouth again. 

Harry pressed his hands to the small of Draco's back, pulling their hips together. Draco's hand was at the Harry's head, pushing them closer and deepening the kiss. Harry's glasses pressed sharply into his cheekbone. He lifted a hand take them off but Draco stopped him, swatting his hand away. 

"You're going to want to keep those on." 

Draco unbuttoned Harry's shirt, slid the palm of his hands over Harry's chest and nipples and around to his back, digging his fingers sharply into his skin. 

Not to be outdone, Harry began undressing Draco, tempted to forego the buttons and just rip the damn thing off. He managed the last button and tugged, Draco's shirt making a whishing noise as it came free from his trousers. Harry groaned and pressed their bare chests together. He could feel Draco's heart pounding just beneath the surface. 

"On the bed," Draco mumbled before pushing Harry back. Harry wiggled backwards so that he lay in the middle of the bed, and snorted with a laugh. "You were right. The bed is amazing," he said. 

Draco grinned and half shrugged his shoulders "Wouldn't lie to you," he said as he climbed onto the bed and crawled over Harry, trailing his hand over Harry's clothed erection. 

"Oh, God," Harry groaned. 

Draco pressed a kiss to Harry's mouth then moved lower, kissing along his neck and collarbone. His hands worked busily between them, undoing Harry's flies and reaching into his pants, wrapping his hand around Harry's cock. 

Harry thrust into Draco's fist, the touch exactly what he had wanted for ages; warm, firm, and surprisingly a little rough. Draco moved further down his body, licking along Harry's sternum and over to his left nipple, swirling his tongue around the tiny pink nub. Harry moaned, and ran his fingers through Draco's hair. 

Draco bit down, and Harry hissed and thrust in response. He moved lower, releasing Harry's cock and tugging down his jeans and pants, Harry lifting his hips off the bed to help. Draco dragged the clothes to around Harry's knees, and Harry kicked them off the rest of the way. 

Draco put his palms flat on either side of Harry's shoulders, pushing himself up to look down at Harry. He expected that Draco would say something at this point about what was about to happen; I'm going to suck you off. maybe, or You're going to fuck me, while I'm on my hands and knees, but Draco said nothing. He slid himself down the length of Harry's body and wrapped his mouth around Harry's cock. That was when Harry realised that Draco was going to do whatever it was he wanted to do, and Harry was merely along for the ride. With the way Draco's tongue licked up the underside of Harry's cock, he was more than a willing passenger. 

He sucked Harry's cock slowly, each downward movement bringing more of Harry into his mouth. Harry splayed his legs wide, trying to draw his feet up flat on the bed so he could thrust into Draco's mouth. Draco would mock him mercilessly later for coming within a minute of being sucked, but Harry didn't care. Draco's mouth was hot, wet, his lips tight around him, and he teased Harry by pushing his foreskin back and licking around the tip. 

Sensing Harry's readiness, Draco pulled his mouth away from Harry's cock. Harry growled, but Draco ignored him, moving down to his balls and giving each one a deliberate suck. 

Draco moved still further down, gripping the back of Harry's thighs and pushing them apart. His warm, slick tongue made a slow, almost tentative pass across Harry's entrance. Harry loved being touched like that, and the muttered curses and moans of delight were apparently enough to encourage Draco to continue. He spread his legs as far apart as he could, giving Draco as much access as possible. Tongue, fingers, more tongue pressing deeper inside . . . 

When Draco sat up on his knees between Harry's legs, he groaned softly and opened his eyes. Panting, with his face flushed and his hair a right mess, Harry had never seen Draco look so perfect. 

He didn't look up at Harry, but kept his focus on Harry's entrance as he pushed in a third finger, stretching him open. 

"May I fuck you, Harry?" Draco asked, pulling his hand free and undoing his trousers. 

Harry bit back a laugh at the unexpected formality. "You just had your tongue in my arse. I think it's pretty obvious at this point that I want you."

The corner of Draco's mouth lifted in a wry grin. "Just wanted to keep up the pretence of my perfect fucking manners." 

Harry rolled off his back and onto his knees as Draco stood to kick off his trousers and pants, and remove his shirt. Draco's skin was uniformly pale, unlike Harry, whose face, arms, and hands were a few shades darker than the rest of him. From the tips of Draco's long fingers to his forehead and down to his toes, he was the finest porcelain, save for his pink nipples and cock. In the yellow light from the lamps along the walls, Draco glowed.   
He was magnificent. 

Draco crawled on the bed and Harry pushed him down onto his back. "I want to ride you," Harry said. 

Draco raised his brows at Harry, that wry grin playing at his lips once again, but did as Harry wanted. He lay on his back, cupping Harry's arse as Harry positioned himself above Draco. 

"You're practically coming already," Draco said, looking at Harry's cock. 

"I've almost come about three times," Harry said, not ashamed at all now. "It's taken all the strength I have to stop myself."

"Come up here and let me attend to you. I'll enjoy it better if I know you're comfortable when I fuck you slowly." 

Holding tight to Harry's hips, Draco brought him forward, Harry straddling his chest, gripping the top of the headboard. Once again, Draco opened his mouth and slowly sucked Harry in. 

It was better than the first time. This time Draco sucked him with a deep intensity beckoning Harry to come, and Harry didn't have to hold back. His chin dropped to his chest as he rocked his hips forwards and back. To his surprise, he found Draco was watching him, reading him as Harry fucked his mouth. 

Draco sucked harder, teasing his fingers across Harry's crevice. The burning for release fired through Harry's belly, and his thrusts becoming more erratic, felt Draco's finger sliding effortless into his arse, nudging his prostate. He came hard and fast, filling Draco's mouth. The roar of completion filled his head, but he still felt Draco's mouth tight around his cock, his tongue reflexively pressing against the underside in pulses as he swallowed. 

Harry's body felt boneless. He almost collapsed against the headboard, but Draco took his pliable body and gently eased him back, positioned Harry over his cock, and slowly pushed inside. 

Reality seemed to snap back as Draco seated Harry fully atop him, his arse pulsing, stretched around Draco's cock. Draco's hands were flat against Harry's thighs, holding him down while he rotated his hips in long, slow strokes. 

"You're getting hard again," Draco whispered, raising his hands to Harry's chest, stroking gently, then rolling Harry's nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. 

"I know," Harry said, his own hands splayed over Draco's ribs for balance as he raised and lowered himself in time with Draco's slow thrusts. 

"Are you going to come for me again? Cover me with your come?" Draco said, swiping one finger up Harry's hardening length. 

Harry moaned. Fucking hell, of course he was going to come again. This was too perfect not to. 

"Let's see if we can come together," Draco said with a sharp roll of his hips. "Bring yourself off for me. I've imagined it so many times. I want to see how you work your own cock." 

Without a second thought, Harry wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked himself in perfect synch with Draco's thrusts. Draco hummed in the back of his throat with approval and picked up the pace, his hands once again gripping Harry's thighs to hold him steady. 

Harry looked down at Draco, who watched him with wide avid eyes, taking in every bit of Harry he could as Harry did the same. 

"Oh fuck, so close—" Draco moaned, cutting off his words, and pushing up hard into Harry. Harry sped up his pace, jerking himself hard, Draco's eyes wide as he watched. "Oh fuck—fucking—" Draco ground out. "Can't, can't hold back," he added in a strangled voice. 

Draco arched his back, moaned sharply, and his warmth flooded into Harry mere seconds before Harry's own orgasm wracked his body, come pulsing in short bursts that surged onto his hand and Draco's belly. Harry's arse squeezed around Draco's cock, and he rocked, riding it out as long as he could. 

He fell in a sweaty, sticky, and completely knackered heap at Draco's side. He wrapped his arms around Draco, pulling him close, not wanting any space between them, and kissed Draco softly on the lips. 

"I hate you, you know," Harry said, nuzzling against Draco's still hot skin. 

"Mhm?' Draco replied. 

"My last day here and now you decide to fuck me. Could have done this four days ago. Now I have to leave tomorrow." 

"No, Harry. If that was all I wanted, I could have had you four days, four months, four years or even more ago."

Harry grunted. "Conceited prat. Those are lofty words for someone who four days ago wouldn't admit we were friends."

"Are we friends?"

Harry stroked his fingers down the shallow groove in Draco's back. "Me coming here any time I liked wasn't enough to show you? I need to say it? Yeah, we're friends. I thought so, anyway. And now I think maybe we're more. Unless..."

"Sex isn't all I want from you. And while it was better than I ever imagined all those hundreds of times, I've outgrown any desire for sex with someone I hate. And despite possible rumours to the contrary, I don't hate you."

"That's nice to know," Harry said, "but I still have to leave in the morning."

"However, you're coming back as soon as you can. Tomorrow night, next weekend." Draco shrugged. "This was just to make sure you knew exactly what you were coming back to." 

"Still a waste of four days," Harry said, poking Draco in the ribs. 

"Shut up, get some rest, take the gift you've been given, and pray you haven't offended me too much so that I turn you down in the morning." 

Draco waved his wand, extinguishing the lights as Harry pulled the covers up over their now cool flesh. Harry smiled as he fell asleep, sure in the knowledge that he wouldn't ever be sent off to the guest room again, and that there was no way Draco would be turning him down in the morning. 

~~~*~~~

 

Two Weeks Later  
Bilbao, Spain

Harry's current case was crumbling around him. The informant he had secured had suddenly disappeared. He had spent the last week searching for him all over the country, even branching out onto the continent. When his search in Oslo failed to produce any leads, he knew he was in serious trouble. 

Muddied from crawling through forest, tired from far too little sleep, and utterly dispirited, Harry didn't even consider going home. There was only one place he wanted to be right now. 

Draco answered when he rang the bell, and Harry knew he was welcome when Draco hung his cloak in the closet, and didn't say a word about his dishevelled appearance for five full minutes. Granted, Harry kept Draco's mouth busy with his own for those first five minutes, but it was still nice to know he was wanted. 

~~~*~~~

 

May  
Bilbao, Spain

Harry woke facing the windows, sensing movement out in the flat. He instinctively reached to the side, but Draco wasn't there. He rolled over and saw that the covers had been thrown back and the room was empty. While he'd slept, Draco had slipped soundlessly out of bed. 

Harry got out of bed, now wide awake from anxiety-fuelled adrenaline. Obviously it was Draco he sensed moving about the flat. Harry grabbed his shorts from the floor and pulled them on. 

He walked quietly down the hall towards the sitting room. Draco had moved a dining chair next to one of the windows, and he sat slumped in it, his forearms on his knees. Like Harry, he was dressed only in shorts. When he was half a meter from Draco, The floorboards creaked under Harry's feet. Draco turned his head, looked at Harry, then turned back, resting his chin in his right hand. 

"You all right?" Harry asked, noticing the bottle of gin and full glass on the floor by Draco's feet. 

Draco shrugged. 

Harry reached out to him cupping the back his neck. He felt cold against Harry's warm hand. Draco pushed into the touch like a cat. 

"You sure you want that?" Harry whispered, and Draco shrugged again. 

"It's the nineteenth." 

"Oh. I hadn't realized the date. I'm sorry," Harry said, rubbing the nape of Draco's neck. 

"It's officially eight years. Haven't seen home in eight years. Thought about it all last night and woke up aching for a drink," Draco said, flicking his eyes to his glass. 

Harry was quiet for a moment, not sure what to say. "You going to drink it?" Harry asked. 

"No. I was thinking about my mother. She detests the smell of gin. She'd be offended that I didn't mix it with anything to try and mask the scent," Draco said with a snort of attempted laughter. 

Harry nodded and continued to rub Draco's neck. He knew why Draco was sad, knew every detail down to the minutiae, and if talking about something like his mother was going to make him feel better, then Harry would listen to stories about Narcissa Malfoy all night. 

"Am I supposed to feel this battered after eight years? At first it was just ticks of the clock, and now suddenly it's almost a decade gone. You'd think I'd be used to it now, but I don't know when it changed. I'm another day older and still exiled. Rotting." Draco dropped his face into his hands, and Harry expected he might cry at any moment. 

He'd seen Draco cry once, eight years ago to be exact. It was the moment his sentence was read. Standing tall and straight as he faced the Wizengamot, slow, angry tears had rolled down his cheeks unbidden as they'd pronounced his punishment. 

Draco sat up taking a deep breath. His voice was a bit scratchy, his face pale, but his eyes were dry. "Sorry, I didn't want to wake you. You don't need to hear all this. You can go back to bed," he said, looking up at Harry. 

"I don't mind. You can talk more if you'd like." 

Draco shook his head. He had already said enough, maybe too much, Harry knew. 

"Will you come back to bed with me?" Harry asked, reaching for one of Draco's hands. Draco swallowed hard and nodded, standing from his chair.

Harry held Draco's hand and led him back to the bedroom. He crawled into bed after Draco, settling himself firmly against Draco's back, holding him tightly as he spooned behind him. Harry stroked the trail of hairs below Draco's navel as he brushed light kisses on his bare shoulders, touching him gently, reminding Draco that he was here, he wasn't going anywhere. 

Draco pushed his arse back against Harry, and his cock stiffened. Harry pushed back, a question. Draco spread his legs apart in reply. 

Placing a light kiss on the shell of Draco's ear, Harry slowly pushed into him. He held Draco flush against him as he thrust gently inside, rocking their bodies together in a slow rhythm, one hand around Draco's chest while the other stroked him. 

Tenderly, Harry moved their bodies together until Draco's breath quickened, and Harry knew he was about to come. Harry squeezed Draco tight, holding firmly to him as he shook silently in Harry's arms. 

~~~**~~~

 

August   
Bilbao, Spain 

This was the best official visit Harry had ever been on. The previous one in April hadn't been so bad, but it couldn't compare to swimming in the ocean, lying on the beach, and sharing a bed every night. Even better, after Harry sent his report in, he was on holiday for the next two weeks. They hadn't yet decided, but he and Draco would be going away somewhere together. 

Harry was resting on the sofa, sleepy from being out in the sun too long. The skin on his pink shoulders felt tight, and he made a mental note to remind Draco to rub some of that green stuff on it again. That was always a fun game; Draco lecturing Harry on too much sun while his cock stiffened against Harry's arse. 

Draco, for some remarkable reason, hadn't burned at all, and he claimed he didn't use anything to prevent it either, claiming it was down to exceptional genes. His skin wasn't the deep gold of Harry's, but a light tan, the colour of sand. Except for his cheekbones, which had acquired a slight burn yesterday from the reflection of his sunglasses, giving his eyes a sultry look. Harry wasn't going to complain and neither did Draco, once Harry pointed out how much he liked it. 

Harry was supposed to be focusing on filling out a form, but he was finding it terribly difficult. Draco was sat in an arm chair to his left reading the paper, and Harry found this activity highly distracting. He turned his head to look at him again, noticing his cheeks were not as pink as they'd been yesterday, but still very colourful. 

"Finish up," Draco said, looking at Harry over the top of his paper. "You said you didn't want to have it hanging over your head tomorrow."

"I know. Maybe I should take a nap first," Harry said, unable to stifle a yawn. "Come over here by me, you look like you could use a bit of a lie down." 

Draco shook his head and snapped his paper back in place, not looking at Harry anymore. 

Harry put his quill and parchment down, laid his glasses on his belly, and shut his eyes. A breeze from the open windows tickled his exposed skin where there was a gap between his t-shirt and shorts. He scratched at it absentmindedly as he began to drift off. 

The fluttering of wings startled him from his dozing. He opened his eyes to see a large Eagle Owl perching atop the lamp beside Draco. It was the Malfoy's family owl. Draco untied the letter from its leg and it immediately took off out the window to perch on the roof across the square. 

Draco read the outside of the envelope, his face pinched. 

'What's wrong?" Harry said, looking back at Draco. 

"Nothing. It's from my mother. She doesn't usually owl me in the middle of the week. I doubt it's anything important, though." Draco tossed his paper on the table and pulled the single sheaf of parchment from the envelope. 

Harry could see from the light that it was a short letter. Draco's eyes went wide as he read, and a growl sounded in the back of his throat. 

"What did it say?" Harry asked, sitting up abruptly as Draco crisply folded the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope. 

"God damn it!" Draco said, standing from his chair and running his hand angrily through his hair. 

"Here, let me read it," Harry said, standing and reaching out his hand. Draco shoved the letter at him and continued to pace. 

 

My Dearest Draco,

I am writing in an attempt to head your father off at the pass. No doubt he will send his own letter but experience tells me it will be overly dramatic and complicated. 

Struple, the insufferably dim house-elf, failed to properly tuck the runner against the stairs as she should have done after cleaning, and I tripped and fell down the stairs. It was only the last five, but I managed to break my leg in the process. I saw a private healer and am mended completely. 

Your father, however, insists that I stay in bed and rest. I am perfectly fine, and will convince him of that as soon as I finish writing to you. 

All my love,  
Mother

 

"She's okay, that's good," Harry said. 

"She fell down the stairs!" Draco said, turning to Harry. "I shouldn't have to hear about my mum's injury through a fucking letter. I should be there!" 

"Calm down," Harry said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "It was minor." 

"What if it hadn't been?" Draco shouted. "What if it had been something serious? Her neck? What would I do then?" 

"Draco," Harry said softly, walking round the table to him, "your mother is fine. She said so herself. You can't dwell, worrying about what might have happened." 

Harry tried to take Draco in his arms but Draco pushed him away. "Don't touch me," he said dangerously. 

"Sorry, I'm trying to help," Harry said.

"I don't need your help. I'm the only son they have. Their only child. I should be there! They aren't as young as they used to be. The war aged them even more, and they're there in that great big house all alone! Without anyone to turn to. I should be taking care of them!" 

"Alright then," Harry said, ready to take charge of the situation. "It's been eight years. You only have two left. Let's file an appeal. It's standard for prisoners of good standing to get a reduced sentence. You've served enough time, so I don't see why it wouldn't be approved."

"Please," Draco scoffed, but Harry was at least glad he was no longer yelling. "I'm a special case. The only one proclaimed persona non grata. The rules are different for me." 

"Yes, they are," Harry said, smiling. "You have me to back you. I can get Kingsley to sign off on it. You'll be home by this time tomorrow." 

Had Draco been able to breathe fire, Harry was sure he would have done it that moment by the look he was giving him. "I do not need you to rescue me," Draco said with controlled fury. 

"That's not what it is!" Harry said. "I'm just putting in a good word, helping you out. You want to go home and I can do that for you." 

"Not fucking likely! Look what they did to me last time you helped." Draco snapped his arms out wide to indicate where they were. 

"It's Spain, for Merlin's sake. Not Mars. And not Azkaban," Harry said. 

"It's still a prison. I'm in fucking prison, bars or no. And do you know what else, Harry?" Draco said, looking Harry in the eyes. "They wanted to send me to Azkaban. They were ready to send me there for the rest of my miserable life. My mum couldn't bear it, with my father already sentenced to five years. Her solicitor cut a deal with the Ministry. No Azkaban, but I'm exiled, ten years, no exceptions." 

Harry's mouth gaped like a fish. He hadn't been told about this. "I—I— Christ, I didn't know." 

"That's right, Potter. They wanted to make an example of me and didn't give a niffler's arse about your testimony. My mother saved me. The Ministry wanted you in your place, so they shackled you with me, punishment for standing up for Death Eater scum. So don't you dare waltz in here acting like you can make this all better because you're the great saviour of the wizarding world, Harry Potter. You never did one fucking thing to help me, and you'll only hurt yourself if you try it again." 

Harry felt like he'd been struck. It was true that Draco's sentence had been rare—one of a kind—but he never imagined why that was. 

"Draco—please—I," Harry said, desperately looking for something to grasp onto. 

"Get the hell out of my house. There's nothing you can do for me. And even if there were, I would never take it. When I go home, I'm going home on my own terms, not as a favour to the wizarding world's golden boy." 

Draco's words were drenched with loathing and disgust. It cut Harry to the core, but he was ready to bite back. 

"I'll leave, Malfoy, but you listen to me. If you set foot in Britain without permission, I'll be the one who has to arrest you. I'll be the one knocking on your door, the one who has to drag your arse to Azkaban. No trial, no deals, no mercy, just a trip straight to the North Sea. I'll have to stand there and watch as they throw you in a bloody eight by eight cell with no leave for parole. You'll be crying for Spain within the first hour." 

Harry didn't yell but his voice shook with emotion, and he meant every word he said. It would kill him, but he'd do it.

"Get out." 

"Gladly." 

~~~**~~~

 

October.  
London, England.

Harry wasn't sure how he'd got through the last two months. He spent half his holiday in his flat, only leaving to go out with Ron and get pissed at night. Hermione would come by after work, doing her best to try and cheer him up, but he hadn't exactly told them about Draco. He hadn't told anyone. 

They all presumed it was because his informant had been found dead in Rotterdam, and the case had completely collapsed. No one knew he was awash in a sea of confusion and heartbreak. He believed what Draco had said about the actual events of his sentencing, which made it even harder to swallow. Harry beat himself up over it, wondering if he'd never tried at all, whether Draco would have received a lighter sentence. 

He couldn't stand sitting around just thinking these things and feeling worse than useless, so he went back to work early. Even doing minimal paperwork was a respite at that point. 

When Daphne arrived back from her holiday, tanned and rested, she looked downright pleased that not a single bit of work waited for her. Harry had done it all. She opened her mouth to make a snide comment, but then she really looked at Harry, wilted, slumped posture, dark circles under his eyes, simply said 'thank you', and went to her desk. 

Harry's case came back to life a week later. He threw himself into the work, going undercover, spending hours on surveillance and securing new contacts. Days and nights blended together, and for that he was grateful. The other benefit was that since he was out of the office, he was able to ignore the constant reminders from the WEC.

He had Daphne put in a request for a new parole advisor for Draco. She looked shocked, but didn't say anything about it. Harry sent a personal memo to Kingsley, assuring the request would go through. 

The request was all but signed, mired in the usual deluge of Ministry paperwork, the morning Harry sat in his office wrapping up his now completed case. He glanced at his calendar and noticed that tomorrow's date was circled, signifying the next official visit for Draco. Harry wasn't concerned. He knew that by the end of the day he would be absolved of that duty. Draco would be out of his life for good. 

Daphne walked into his office, reading from her daily agenda. "The boxes of evidence," she said, kicking the stack of cardboard boxes pushed up against the wall of Harry's office, "will be picked up in an hour and delivered upstairs. You have a lunch meeting with the prosecutor at noon to go over your testimony, a formality really. Then after that—" 

A sound suddenly ripped the air, louder than Apparation. More like a sonic boom. Harry immediately ducked, covering his ears, and Daphne did the same, dropping to the floor. When nothing followed, Harry slowly looked up to see a singed piece of parchment floating down to his desk. It burned his hand as he tried to grab it. 

"Ouch!" He let it fall the rest of the way so that it would cool off. It landed gracefully on his desk, and Harry leaned over it, sucking the angry blister that was already forming on his index finger. 

Code seven of the parole treaty for prisoner 05181981 has been broken. 

"Code seven?" Harry said, squinting at the paper. 

"He's within the borders," Daphne said quietly, leaning over the desk to read the message. 

Harry shot a look at Daphne. "Bloody buggering hell! I always wondered how they would know." 

"He's got a trace on him. I'm not exactly sure how the magic works, but it does." 

Harry picked up the now cooled parchment and crumpled it in his hand. Why now? Why, of all days, did Draco have to come back today? 

"What do you do now?" Daphne asked. Harry stood from his desk, briskly grabbing his cloak and fastening it. 

"I'm going to arrest him," Harry answered matter-of-factly. 

"Harry?" Daphne said quickly before Harry could leave the office. 

"What is it?" Harry said, turning around. 

Daphne bit her lip, deliberating on whether to speak or not. She inhaled deeply through her nose. "Draco's desperate. It's the only reason he'd come back before his sentence expired. He would never do it for any other reason. It's not his parents, they're fine. I spoke to them yesterday. He wants something, needs something. This must be to get your attention." 

Daphne gave Harry a look so penetrating that Harry knew that all those trips to Spain hadn't gone unnoticed. Daphne knew about every single one, must have known exactly what was going on, and hadn't breathed a word until now. 

"How do you know?" Harry asked. "How do you know he's desperate?"

"Grew up with him, didn't I?" she replied. "You don't share tutors, have play-dates, and live in the same house for seven years without getting to know someone really well." 

"You were his friend?" 

"I am his friend," Daphne said with such affection and firmness that Harry wanted to hug her. Instead he nodded and turned to leave. He had an arrest to make. 

~*~

Wiltshire, England

This is where it ends, he thought yet again, the tails of his Auror robes fluttering in the wind.

The door to Malfoy Manor swung open not, as Harry had expected, to a house-elf, but to Draco himself. 

Their eyes met and Harry did everything in his power to remain impassive. 

"You haven't managed to dump me off on some other pathetic soul?" Draco said, looking Harry up and down. 

"I keep my word. Told you I would arrest you if you did this," Harry said coldly. 

Draco raised his chin and narrowed his eyes, his expression challenging Harry. Do it then. 

"Draco, darling, why are you standing there with the door wide open? It's raining, and there's a draft," Narcissa's voice called out from the hall. Draco's face seemed to melt suddenly, and he looked alarmed.

"Please, Harry, don't arrest me in front of my mother. I'll go with you but—" 

Harry nodded quickly.

"I'm going out, Mum," Draco called back to his mother, not daring to turn and show her his expression. "I've got something to attend to." 

"Go quickly, dear. Tea's in an hour," she said. 

"Right." 

Draco schooled his face into a neutral expression, turned back to grab his cloak, and kissed Narcissa quickly on the cheek. He left with Harry, walking side by side down the long drive, through the Malfoy gates where Harry gripped him firmly on the arm and Disapparated. 

~*~

London, England

Harry left Draco alone in an interrogation room for forty-five minutes, watching him covertly the entire time, from the next room. Draco sat cold and unmoving, staring at the wall opposite. 

It took all of his effort to walk into the room cool and collected. He wanted to sound logical, not emotional. 

Harry sat down across from Draco, took out a quill, ink well, Draco's parole file, and a new file drawn up less than two hours ago. 

"It's about time," Draco said lazily. "Have you called my family attorney?" 

"Told you, no trial," Harry said. "Besides, no one knows you're here but me." 

"Comforting." 

Harry opened Draco's file and began to leaf through it. "How many middle-names do you have?" Harry asked, feigning surprise. 

Draco crossed his arms petulantly in front of his chest. "Three, and does it matter? You kept me waiting for hours before you bothered to show up at my house, and now you come in here and ask inane questions that you already know the answers to." 

"I'm sorry to have kept His Royal Highness waiting. I had some things to attend to," Harry said, rolling his eyes. 

"Like what?" Draco asked, sounding like he thought Harry was lying. 

"This." Harry tossed a stack of parchment which landed on the table in front of Draco with a thump. Across the top read, For immediate release of Prisoner 05181981. Draco L. A. H. Malfoy. 

Draco stared at the parchment, blinking several times. He got his features under control, and looked up at Harry with a murderous expression, speaking through clenched teeth. "I assume you don't have a hearing problem so you must be incredibly slow. Let me spell it out for you again, Potter. I do not want you pulling strings for me." 

"Shut up, Malfoy. It's not like that." Harry leant across the table, gazing intently at Draco. "I need a favour from you." 

Draco raised his eyebrows. 

"This WEC thing, it won't go away. They're still putting pressure on me to show support, and Towler won't let up, because he doesn't want to deal with it. You sign this, and I've done something so they'll get the hell off my arse. I've brought back the token Pureblood done wrong. Something for something. They'll leave me alone, and you get to come home for it." 

"It still smells like pulling strings."

"Shut up, Malfoy. You're late for tea, and mother won't be pleased."

Draco was quiet for a moment. "Is that all?" he asked shrewdly. 

"No. I've already approved of one advertisement," Harry said bitterly. 

"Not for you, you selfish prig. Me?" 

"Community Service."

"Brilliant. You'll have me cleaning Ministry toilets or delivering food to old hags who only have their kneazles for company. The smell of their houses alone will require a Bubble Head Charm." Draco winced, pushing the stack of parchment away as if it were suddenly so distasteful it might taint him. 

Harry stood, walking round the table to stand beside Draco, and squatted down so he was looking up at him. 

"They're on me from every direction. They'll get me eventually, and I can't be doing that without getting something from them. I can get this from the Ministry. I really messed up last time, thinking I could help but I can do something this time. Draco, please let me do this," Harry pleaded, and placed a tentative hand on Draco's thigh. 

Draco stared back, his face impassive. 

"Please. Don't make me ask again."

"Where do I sign," Draco said, sounding resigned. 

Harry stood up quickly, grabbed the parchment, and went through page after page with Draco, as it required multiple signatures and initialling. 

"You really owe me for this," Draco said as he signed his name on the very last line. 

"I know," Harry said, trying not to smile. 

"You're going to pay, and it's not going to be cheap. Using me because you aren't clever enough to tell people 'no' and make it stick." 

"It's always been a weakness of mine," Harry agreed. 

"We'll work on it." 

"We'll work on it?" 

"I'm sure discussions of your work are bound to come up as much as I will try to avoid them," Draco said as he stood. "How come I've never seen you in your uniform?" 

"I was never on official Auror business when I came to see you. Your parole was run through the M.L.E. Besides, some people find it intimidating, not to mention your whole Muggle neighbourhood thing," Harry said with an innocent shrug. 

"Intimidating is not what I would call it." Draco's eyes roved over Harry. "I never asked; do Aurors carry hand-cuffs?" 

"We do not, but I can conjure the finest pair you've ever seen." 

"Undoubtedly," Draco said. "Can you do that wearing only the boots?" 

Harry raised his eyebrows, waggling them slightly. 

"Don't keep me in suspense," Draco said, leaning in close to Harry. 

"Draco," Harry said, pushing him back. 

Draco shot a look at the two-way wall. 

Harry shook his head. "No one's there. I want to tell you. I didn't do this for me, or even because I want you. I did it because you deserve it. You deserve to come home." 

"I'll leave then," Draco said, straightening up. "Before I embarrass myself further." 

"No! Idiot. I meant I did it because it's the right thing, because I didn't want you to be punished anymore. I desperately want you back, but that wasn't the reason for all of this. It should have been done ages ago."

"Right. Well." Draco looked back at the wall. "You sure no one's there?" 

"Positive. Daphne's sealed off the entire corridor and cleared my schedule. She really is a wonder—" 

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Stop nattering already, and kiss me."


End file.
